The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,143

. it wasn’t a dream, then. The letter . . .” Her voice sounded hoarse, rusty.

“I wrote the letter,” said Johann, trembling with joy. To see her again after all these years was almost more than he could bear. Memories and images flooded his mind.

“Margarethe,” he began. “I . . . I’ve been searching for you for so long. I . . .” He broke off. The sight of her was too much for him.

“Where have you been?” she asked. “So much time has passed.”

Johann realized that Margarethe was talking again. The spell seemed broken, but she was changed. She was a little too far away for him to make out details, but Johann thought he could see wrinkles around her eyes. Could it be true? She was only eighteen, the same as him. He felt like an eternity had gone by since their last encounter.

“Much has happened,” he said awkwardly. “I . . . I was forced to leave Knittlingen. My father no longer wanted me in the house, and Martin wasn’t found. They blamed me for everything. And you . . . you didn’t speak . . .”

“I know.” She paused for a long moment and sighed. “Sometimes I remember, but it’s just scraps, like wafts of mist. Schillingswald Forest, the boulder with the picture of the devil in the clearing, your naked shoulder in the cave. And then that man . . .”

“What man?” asked Johann.

“The man in the woods . . .” She looked around anxiously, as if someone might sneak up from behind. “Listen, Johann—what’s done is done. I’ve got a new life here. My husband—”

“I know what your so-called husband did,” said Johann gruffly.

“Johann, you don’t understand. I’m grateful. I feel safe here at the convent.”

“Safe from what?” asked Johann.

Margarethe said nothing. The silence tortured Johann. Some pigeons flew up from the roof. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, Margarethe spoke so quietly that Johann struggled to understand.

“I have dreams, Johann, terrible dreams. In my dreams I see what happened that day in the woods. And I also see what’s yet to come. The beast will return! It will rise from the depths and devour the earth. The man told me.”

“What beast?”

“We can’t see each other again, Johann.” Margarethe was crying now. He saw the tears roll down her cheeks. Her words came out like hard lumps. “I’m so terribly afraid . . . Not just for me, but for you, too, and for all of mankind . . . A new age is dawning, the man said. And sometimes I think I’m the only one who knows. That he told only me.”

Johann clenched his fists. What was Margarethe talking about? Had she gone crazy after all? Could her drunken husband be right?

“Margarethe, I’m begging you!” he pleaded. “I traveled through so many countries just to see you again. Don’t send me away. I want to at least understand what you mean. And I want to tell you what I’ve been doing for the last couple of years.”

Margarethe hesitated, visibly grappling with herself. “On the feast day of Saint Michael the archangel,” she said eventually. “I’m scheduled to help with the grape harvest.” She gave a sad smile. “Like back in Knittlingen, remember? We used to work in the vineyards together. I’ll try to get away from the other sisters so we can meet again. But I beg you, Johann, you must—” She broke off and turned her head. “Someone’s coming. I have to go. Go with God!”

She closed the shutters and Johann was alone. Trembling all over, he shut his eyes and saw her face once more, like he’d just seen it in the window. Saw her face and heard the laughter that had saved him twice already.

He had found Margarethe.

And he’d see her again. He would touch her and inhale her scent. And all would be well. What she’d told him of her dreams was nothing but unhappy memories that came back in her sleep—nothing but nightmares like he also suffered from time to time.

Squirming bodies in the trees . . . the forbidden books of Signore Barbarese . . . crucified Archibaldus . . . the writing on the church wall . . .

As he hurried down the fields toward his boat, the heavens suddenly opened. Thunder clapped, and late-summer rain poured down on him. Johann leaned back his head, opened his mouth, and drank the warm drops greedily.

They tasted almost like blood.

Below a willow tree by the river stood